“Oh, Mary, take the stick out of your ass,” Emmadean said. “Nora couldn’t care less how we plant Ray in the ground, long as we do.”
“Wow.” Mary made a production of sweeping the crumbs off her hands. “I thought it would at least take ten minutes. But, she’s barely walked in the door, and you’re taking her side. I’ve been at Pop’s beck and call for the last fifteen years while Nora’s been off doing God knows what...”
“Servin’ her country,” Emmadean interjected.
“...but does anyone ever appreciate what I do? The sacrifices I’ve made? No. I’m just told to take a stick out of my ass as if I’m the selfish one. Fucking priceless.” My niece and nephew, Madison and Hunter, stormed into the kitchen in a swirl of preteen energy. They immediately threw themselves at me, and almost knocked me down.
“Aunt Nora!”
“Gosh, you two have gotten big!” I said, hugging the little heathens. “Next time I think a firm handshake is all I’ll be able to stand.”
They bombarded me with questions, and I listened and watched Mary smolder with jealousy.
“Did I bring you anything?” I said in mock shock. “Noooo.” I put my hand up to block my face from Mary and mouthed, “Yes. Go check my bag.”
Madison, the oldest, playfully pushed Hunter out of the way so she could be first down the hall.
“When Nora’s done spoiling them, I’ll meet y’all in the car,” Mary said.
The screen door slapped shut behind her. Jeremy sighed. “That didn’t take long.”
“She’ll get over it,” I said. I had zero patience with Mary’s jealousy. I saw the kids every couple of years, at most, though I tried to Skype with them somewhat regularly. Why she couldn’t just let me enjoy being their aunt was beyond me. “I hope Hunter still likes Legos.”
“He does,” Emmadean said. “Those things get lost in our shag carpet. Dormer and I have been stepping on them for years.”
I opened the cabinet door under the sink and tossed my barely eaten whoopie pie into the trash. “When’s the visitation?”
“Six,” Emmadean said. The clock above the door said sixteen thirty-five.
“Why don’t you drive Mary out to Comanche Springs, Jeremy?”
“You want me to go parking with my wife? Now?”
“I’m giving y’all a break from the kids. If she wants to bitch about me, so much the better.”
“Why don’t you take her? Let her bitch at you directly.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll let Mary yell and scream at me before I go back home. Let her test out her arguments with you first. Refine them a little bit. I want only her best temper tantrum. And, frankly, I’d rather hang out with your kids.”
“You are so weird sometimes, Nora,” Jeremy said. “Don’t take them to Dairy Queen. They’ve already had three cookies each.”
I mock saluted and said, “Yes sir.”
Jeremy left, leaving me to study the casserole offerings. I leaned over and inhaled the tangy aroma of an especially delicious-looking green chile chicken enchilada casserole. “What should I avoid, Emmadean?” When she didn’t answer, I glanced up.
“You are home.”
I straightened, confused. “Hmm?”
“You said Mary could yell at you before you go home. Lynchfield is your home.”
I picked up a paper plate, found a serving spoon in the drawer next to the sink, and dished up a helping of enchiladas while Emmadean watched.
“Ray’s dead, Nora. No reason you can’t stay.”
“My life is in DC. My career. My friends.”
“Your family is here.”
“I’ve gotten along without my family for years.”
“That was your choice, not ours.”
I took a bite of enchiladas, savoring the contrast of the spicy tang of the sauce and the smooth creaminess of the cheese, and wondering what had compelled me to return to my hometown for my father’s funeral. I’d managed to sever myself cleanly from him, and, for that matter, from Lynchfield, Texas. I told myself I could come, pay my respects, and leave, unscathed and untouched by memories, and long-buried emotions. I knew it for a lie as soon as Emmadean took me into her arms. By her body language and expression, so did she. The enchiladas turned sour in my mouth, but I continued to eat to avoid answering.
Emmadean shook her head and said as she walked out the back door, “Can’t run from your problems forever, war hero.”
I dumped the paper plate into the trash.
“Come on, you heathens! Quick trip to DQ before the visitation!” I called.
They let out a cheer. The sound of feet pounding down the hallway made me smile.
two
nora
I’m not a war hero, nor have I ever claimed to be. I’m a war hero like anyone who wears the uniform is deemed a hero, by merely doing the job we signed up for, volunteered for, or were, sometimes, persuaded into doing.
I stared down a never-ending line of people who knew me, but whom I couldn’t remember to save my life. I smiled and shook hands and listened to them shower me with platitudes, and thank me for my service, though I’d been out of the army for eight years. Seemed like yesterday. Seemed like forever ago.
“Your father was proud of you.”
“Proudest day of his life when you deployed over to kick some Saddam Hussein ass. Thank you for your service.”
“To hear old Noakes talk you’da thought you toppled that statue yourself. You didn’t, did you?”
“Talked about you all the time.”
“Loved you so much.”
“So proud. Thank you for your service.”
“He missed you but understood how important your job is.”
“Kept everyone up-to-date on your career.”
I caught Emmadean’s eye with a clear What the hell are these people talking about? expression.
She shrugged a shoulder and took the man in front of me off my hands. “Earl, thanks for coming.”
Mary, on my opposite side, leaned near me and whispered, “Rest assured, Pop hated you. Emmadean’s who talks you up.” She leaned away and smiled at the woman in front of her. “Hello, Mrs. Wyatt. Thanks for the enchiladas.”
“They weren’t too spicy, were they?”
“No, they were perfect.”